


again

by salazarsslytherin (dust_ice_fire)



Series: an unorthodox method of teaching [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, but this tag needs more fic, it's kind of pre-shippy, this isn't really shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 09:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11987325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: He picked his sword back up, set his jaw, and told Bronn, “Again.”





	again

“ _Fuck_.”  

The wooden sword clattered to the floor—again—and Bronn paused.  Jaime rarely swore.  

“Maybe you should take a break,” Bronn suggested, eyeing his student/opponent as he stooped to snatch the practice sword back up.

“I don’t _want_ to take a break,” Jaime snapped, readying himself once again and holding his sword out.  His knuckles were bloody from a particularly nasty whack from Bronn’s sword well over an hour ago, his hair damp against his forehead.  They’d been at it for hours, but Jaime carried on with dogged determination.

Bronn shrugged at the refusal and casually flipped his sword in hand before setting upon Jaime once again.  For a few minutes, the air was filled with the sounds of wooden swords clacking together, feet dancing over sandy stone, and the huffed breaths of men at work. 

Then, inevitably, came the sound of a sword falling to the ground, and the rest went quiet.  

This had happened with increasing frequency over the course of the afternoon as Jaime tired, and every time he’d picked his sword back up, set his jaw, and told Bronn, “Again.”

But now he turned and kicked the wooden sword so hard it cleared the entire stone platform where the two practised together, only stopping when it crashed into the wall around its perimeter.  Jaime’s shoulders heaved unexpectedly and he took several hurried strides away from Bronn, towards the low wall that separated them from the clifface down to the sea.

This was, really, Bronn’s cue to leave—Jaime appeared to be having some kind of meltdown, and Bronn was most certainly not paid enough to deal with that.  Somehow, though, he found himself walking not towards the staircase that would take him to the path leading back to the Red Keep, but towards the knight on the opposite side of the clearing.  

“I don’t need your pity,” Jaime ground out as Bronn came to stand beside him, a good two feet away in case Jaime decided to go for a punch, but still—beside him.  

“It’s water, actually,” Bronn said, taking out his water skein and offering it.

“I don’t need your water.”

“No?  Don’t need nothing, do ya?” Bronn retorted, taking several long gulps from the flask himself.  “You’re the _great_ , golden-handed Jaime Lannister, you don’t need anyone’s help.”

“I’m done for today,” Jaime said shortly.  “You can go.”

“Now, I _could_ ,” Bronn agreed, decidedly _not_ going as he instead flopped down on the wall and languidly stretched his legs out in front of him.  “But it’s a helluva long walk back up to the city, and I’m feeling a bit tired.  Hours and fucking _hours_ of sword-practice’ll do that to a man.”

“I _said_ I don’t need your pity,” Jaime growled through his teeth, turning sharply to glare at the sellsword.  

Bronn lifted his hands in a gesture of peace.  “Alright,” he shrugged.  “It ain’t pity, you self-pitying _princess_ , but whatever you say.  You’re not gonna get to where you were overnight.”

“I’m _never_ going to get to where I was!” Jaime burst out, turning fully and dropping onto the wall himself, letting out a shaky breath.  “Everything I was was in that hand.  It’s _gone_.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Bronn said, shoving the water skein at Jaime with more force than was strictly required.  Jaime let out a quiet ‘oof’ as the other man’s fist collided unexpectedly with his chest, but he took the flask.  “You lost your hand.  I dunno if anyone’s actually told you this yet, but you’ve got to _get over it_.”

Jaime glared.  “Should I chop _your_ hand off and see how quickly _you_ get over it?”

Bronn snorted.  “I’d bloody _love_ to see you try,” he replied, unbothered.  “People get their hands cut off all the time.  People get their _cocks_ cut off all the time.  And their heads.  You should consider yourself lucky.”

Jaime choked on the water he’d sipped, laughing bitterly.  “ _Lucky_ ,” he repeated.  “How, exactly, am I _lucky_ to have lost the best part of me?”

“They could’ve taken your golden _head_ , Lannister.”

“They should have,” Jaime muttered.  “Better dead than crippled.”

Bronn stood up suddenly and faced him.  “Well, off you go, then,” he said cheerfully, jerking his thumb over the wall.  “It’s a long way, but if the fall doesn’t kill you, I’m sure the sea will.  Here, I’ll give you a hand, as you’ve only got the one.”

Bronn grabbed the front of Jaime’s jacket and gave him a rough shake before shoving him back, bracing one foot on the wall as Jaime’s left hand flew up to grasp at his wrist and his right thumped against Bronn’s skull.

“Are you _mad_?” Jaime demanded, twisting to look back over his shoulder, at the long drop beneath him and the waves crashing far below.  “Get off me!”

Bronn shook him again.  “See?” he demanded.

Jaime’s fingers tightened and his boots flailed against the floor, trying to gain better purchase as Bronn forced him to lean back yet further over the ledge.  “You don’t really want to die, Jaime Lannister.  So stop your fucking whining, pick up your damn sword, and try to kill me with it.”

He gave Jaime one last shake before hauling him upright and letting go.

At once, Jaime stepped around Bronn and away from the wall, breathing heavily.  “Has anyone ever told you that your teaching methods _lack_ a certain delicacy?” Jaime asked, tugging his jacket back into place and avoiding Bronn’s gaze.

“No,” Bronn replied, scratching thoughtfully at his chin.  “Only ever had the one student, though.  He was a bit of a cunt—spoiled, you know?  More gold than sense.  Still, I’m sure if he wanted a proper little lord’s teaching, he’d’ve gone to a proper little lord, wouldn’t he?”

Jaime just ground his teeth together.  

“Thought so,” Bronn said cheerfully.  “Go and pick up your sword, then, _Ser Jaime_.”

“If I had my right hand,” Jaime muttered mutinously, moving over to where he’d kicked the damned sword earlier.  

“‘ _If I had my right hand_ ’,” Bronn mimicked, following close behind and wasting no time in slashing his own sword down on Jaime as he reached for his.  

Jaime darted out of the way, snatching his sword back up and raising it to parry Bronn’s next attack, not quite managing to get the jump on the other man but managing to fend off several blows while on the back-foot before a particularly nasty side-swipe caught Jaime on the upper arm, followed by another to the wrist and a third that knocked the sword from his hand yet again.

Bronn stepped back as soon as the bout was done, waiting.  Jaime angrily blew out his breath but he stooped to collect the sword, straightening with it in hand.

“Again.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
